


Red

by kate_the_reader



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Clothing, Established Relationship, Gift, M/M, Suitporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: When Amy reblogged a picture of an astonishing Alexander McQueen suit with the comment “Arthur would wear this to his wedding” I agreed completely, and this was the result, because Amy and I adore suitporn, and adore McQueen tailoring and adore Arthur in McQueen. And I adore Amy.To my dear friend: more suitporn, always, for you.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 71





	Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swtalmnd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/gifts).



When Eames asked, one night in bed, as if it was the most natural next step (and it was), Arthur just said, “Yes.” The only possible answer to that question.

The next day, he asked: “When?”

And Eames said: “Soon?” with a hopeful lift in his voice.

To which Arthur said: “Yes, soon.”

They both knew they didn’t want a big thing, just them at City Hall.

But the day after, Eames said: “Actually, not that soon. There’s something …” Trailing off in a way that meant: l have something up my sleeve.

And Arthur said: “Oh? Okay. When you’re ready.” Knowing that whatever Eames was planning would be worth the wait. Eames just smiled, slow and easy, and private in a way that sent anticipation tingling up Arthur’s spine.

And then, one day a few weeks later, a large box with a very familiar logo lay on the bed, and Eames said: “The day after tomorrow?”

Arthur, standing next to the bed, his fingertips trailing over the logo on the box, simply said: “Yes.” And nodding at the box, added: “You should hang it up.”

Eames smiled his slow, private smile and said: “You don’t want to look, try it on?”

“No, they have my measurements. I trust them. And I trust you. I can wait.” Anticipation tingled up his spine again, along with curiosity, all the more delicious for being thwarted.

The day after the next, in the morning, Eames said: “Late this afternoon. Last slot of the day. Cocktails and dinner afterwards. That suit you?”

Arthur smiled at what was surely a deliberate choice of word. “Of course, suits me perfectly.” Raising his eyebrow in a tiny quirk and drawing a delighted laugh from Eames.

He is always very happy to leave these kinds of arrangements in Eames’ capable, talented hands, to give him the pleasure of surprising Arthur, the certainty of knowing he is trusted completely.

Trying to ignore the tingle that had become a shiver, Arthur went for a run, not long, or punishing, just a time-passing run that gave him time to think, about what they were about to do, and say, and how that fitted seamlessly into what they were, and how they were, together. Returning home, he went to shower, and when he stepped out of the bathroom, perfectly shaved and hair in place, there it was, hanging from the hook on the closet door.

He had known from the moment he saw the name on the box, that it would be spectacular. But he hadn’t known exactly how.

He has some astonishing suits from Alexander McQueen, but this one is beyond his imagining.

He brushes his hand across the red embroidery, from the right side of the jacket across to the left shoulder and down the sleeve, trailing his fingers through the threads hanging impractically, gorgeously, from the cuff. Turns his hand so they lie across his knuckles like blood-oozing slashes inflicted by a sharp knife, like paint dripping from an artist’s brush.

Behind him, Arthur is aware of Eames, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, unspeaking. He turns, red still threaded through his fingers. The look in Eames’ eyes is heated.

“God, Eames, this is …” Arthur is rarely lost for words. 

Eames nods, sharply, as if confirming something he had thought to be true and now knows, and advances into the room. He stops in front of Arthur and runs his hands slowly from shoulders to chest to hips, and then reaches for a crisp white shirt still in the laundry’s tissue paper, flicks it out of its folds, carefully undoes the buttons and hands it to Arthur, his hands returning to fasten the buttons again, with calm concentration, his fingers adept at this often-performed task. He steps back, and hands Arthur his socks, taking the trousers from the hanger and waiting for him. The belt he hands Arthur next is plain black leather, lined with red. It’s such a private detail, so very Eames, who notices everything; Arthur knows which shoes he will have picked out.

“Tie?” Eames asks, the first thing he has said. He is not wearing one with his three-piece charcoal suit, the waistcoat defining his chest in a way Arthur loves.

“Wouldn’t want to detract from this,” Arthur says, running his hand across the red stitching again.

“Mmmm,” Eames agrees, reaching for the jacket and watching while Arthur slips it on. It settles perfectly on his shoulders, buttons across his chest without a wrinkle.

“Damn, they’re good,” he says.

“Damn,  _ you’re _ good,” says Arthur, lifting his hand to Eames’ face, the red threads swishing, running his thumb down to the dip of his throat behind his shirt’s open top button. 

No one else would have given this suit to Arthur. Only Eames understands him well enough to know that he loves this kind of flamboyance. Eames is the only person he has ever trusted enough to reveal this to. 

There’s only one thing left. Eames crouches to slip Arthur’s feet into his Louboutins; stands to sweep his fingers across the embroidery splashed across Arthur’s chest and down through the trailing threads to take his hand.

Arthur is aware of admiring, astonished glances as he and Eames climb the steps at City Hall. He’s certainly the best dressed man here today — or any day — and he loves it. He loves more that Eames gave him this crazy romantic gesture of a gift.

In answer to the traditional question, he answers soberly, in a firm voice: “I do”. Looking into Eames’ eyes, he mouths: “Hell yeah”.

And when the officiant pronounces them married, he takes Eames in his arms, the red fringe like a curtain around them as they kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> [This is the tumblr post in question, see what we mean about the suit!](https://kate2kat.tumblr.com/post/614722972106784768/ashbless-brush-stroke-inspired-embroidery-at)
> 
> [This story now has art, please go and enjoy it and give LemonYellow lots of love.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225880)


End file.
